


stop being so stabby!!

by peachytickles



Series: tua tickle fic week [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Tickling, bros trying?? and succeeding?? to get along??, i would die for this duo, it's what they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21398182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachytickles/pseuds/peachytickles
Summary: when luther gets bogged down by the fractious, volatile relationships he shares with his siblings, diego unwittingly manages to show him that they are capable of getting along after all.written for the tua tickle fic week on tumblr (created by @anasticklefics)day one/luther
Series: tua tickle fic week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542655
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	stop being so stabby!!

Growing up, Luther had rarely found it boring living with his six siblings. If he wasn’t training or completing his schoolwork, he would be running after his brothers, trying his best to curtail their chaotic natures, and set a good example. Now that he was an adult – all of a sudden living with his brothers and sisters again – he frequently found himself still trying to do exactly that.

But no matter how hard he tried, he often found himself failing.

At first, he had thought everyone living together again would be fun. That they would bond, play board games, take turns cooking dinner and washing up in the evenings. Instead, there were smashed plates and blazing rows. Conflict had followed them past the apocalypse and back into their childhood home. Despite attending weekly group therapy, it seemed like there was always going to be friction and resentment festering. No matter how encouraging or upbeat he tried to be, (the therapist had said he should try to be less controlling and dismissive of his siblings, and she had _Qualifications_, so she must _Know Best_, and therefore he was going to_ Listen To Her_), at least one person always seemed to be in a bad mood.

Today might as well be his turn.

_"It's not like any of **them **try to improve themselves"_ he thought to himself acidly, stomping down the stairs. _“Why should I be nice and accommodating if I never get any thanks for it?” _

He burst into the kitchen, and the doorframe splintered as he shoved it open.

“Jeez,” Diego spun round to look at him. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have _a_ problem.” Luther scowled at him and took a seat at the breakfast table. “I have _six_ problems.”

Diego looked vaguely uncomfortable as he took a bag of pasta from the cupboard and started pouring it into a large pot. “….Do you wanna like. Talk?...About your six problems, that is.”

“I’m already talking to one of them.” Luther snarled. The speed with which Diego turned to stare at him disrupted the momentum of the pasta, and several pieces fell to the floor. He started to bend down to pick them up, then thought better of it and kicked them under the fridge.

“Don’t kick them under-_ Jesus Christ_.” Luther covered his face with his hands. “Seriously? Who raised you?”

“The same man who raised you to be a control freak?” Diego bit, and now he was starting to get snappish as well.

“Oh yes. Still, I seem to remember he encouraged you to throw knives into walls. It’s no wonder you live like an animal.” Luther sniffed condescendingly. “You’ve no sense of house pride.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve woken up to your knives sticking out of my ceiling and wall! Why would you even do that?!”

Diego shrugged. “Funny.”

“It’s not funny! Your knives cut down all my hanging aeroplanes! Do you have any idea how long it took-“ He paused, realising Diego was snorting with laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

That only made Diego laugh harder. He coughed and spluttered, cheeks turning red as he did eventually try to compose himself.

“When did you even do it?! Last night? Were you like, using me as target practice or something? You need to stop being so stabby, it’s disturbing!”

Diego cackled, tipping his head back with the force of his laughter. “Why, what are you going to do about it? Confiscate my knives?”

Luther huffed. “No, just…make them less deadly. If you can.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Take the blades out?”

Diego pulled one of the remaining knives from his holster and flipped it so the blade was flat on his palm. “What, and just let the handles do all the damage?” He thought for a moment, watching as Luther reached across the table to pull the fruit bowl closer. Then he impulsively flicked his wrist, sending the knife careening across the kitchen. The handle landed hard, right in the spot he’d intended it to - Luther’s exposed side.

Luther honest to God _squealed_.

Diego snorted. “What was that?”

Luther frowned at him, his cheeks colouring. “I just asked you not to throw your knives at me.”

“No, _technically_ you asked me to make them less deadly. There’s nothing deadly about a plastic handle.”

“Yes, there is. And anyway, I was _implying_ that you shouldn’t throw your knives at me.”

“No there isn’t. And _I_ disagree.”

The two stared at each other for a minute.

“In what world would I want an emotionally stunted man to throw at knives at me?” Luther scoffed, and he looked away, selecting an apple from the fruit bowl.

Diego took his chance to slide another knife from his holster, flicking the catch and carefully taking the knife apart.

“One where they don’t have blades.”

Luther shot him a disbelieving look, lifting the apple to his mouth.

“You literally did just say that.” Diego pointed out, and tossed the bladeless knife across the room. Again, it landed right where he wanted it, this time wedging itself right in Luther’s vulnerable underarm. Luther yelled, snapping his arm against his side and arching his back at the intrusion. The handle clattered to the floor and Diego sniggered, strolling over. There was a sly gleam in his eye, and the expression on his face was almost gleeful.

“Take your knives and fuck off,” Luther muttered. His face was beginning to turn red.

“That’s not very nice.” Diego stopped behind Luther’s chair, seeing the way his shoulders tensed up. “But I understand. I’m not very nice either.” And with that, he dug his fingers firmly into his ribs, rejoicing in the way he screeched.

“Oh, that’s funny. I thought you were in a bad mood. Why are you laughing?”

“Die-hehehey! Diego!”

“Seriously, tell me.” Diego moved his fingers lower, finding a spot where the flesh was less muscular and more pliant. He squeezed it experimentally and Luther jerked forward, crashing against the dining table and sending it screeching a few paces across the floor. “Or I might start thinking you’re laughing at my expense, and that _really_ wouldn’t be nice.”

Luther’s laughter only got louder as the tickling went on. He made no effort to defend himself – instead he was trying to curl up, squirming and weakening as the pressure intensified. Diego wormed his fingers under his arms, wondering if he really was this ticklish, or if he was just allowing himself to suffer, more fearful that if he were to retaliate he would just end up hurting Diego. The thought made Diego stop in his tracks, as he realized that no matter how much he’d ever tormented Luther, he had never tried to subdue him with violence. He found himself easing up on the tickling and stepping away (albeit a little regretfully.)

“You done being a moody fool now?”

Luther coughed a little, trying to force the last of the mirth from his system. “I don’t know, are you done torturing me?” He sounded like he wasn’t sure if he still wanted to be pissed or not.

“Yeah,” Diego muttered awkwardly. “That includes not throwing my knives around your room. I guess.”

Luther huffed, half aggrieved, half amused. “Why the change of heart?”

“I don’t know.” Diego crouched down and picked up his knives, then sat on the edge of the table. “You’re the only one who’s never missed a therapy session. You helped Vanya find that new orchestra. And you’re the only one who can get Five out of the house. At least you’re actually trying to better yourself. The least I can do is stop winding you up.”

Luther pulled a face. “But you managed to track down Dave’s cenotaph. The rest of us wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to even wonder if it existed.” He paused, realising that his mood had lightened. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you hang all my aeroplanes back up, though. Because I am.”

Diego laughed, and for once it wasn’t derisive or mocking. “Sure, I’ll do that.”

They grinned at each other in a way that was almost akin to fondness, before the emotional intensity of the moment got to Diego and he looked away awkwardly. His eyes fell on the pot he’d abandoned on the stove, and he thought for a moment before speaking.

“You fancy pasta?”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @peachytickles


End file.
